


Sepherith

by salarta



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Beer, Cock Tease, Corruption, Denial, F/M, First Time, Flowers, Futanari, Ghosts, Identity Rape, Incest, Masturbation, Memory Alteration, Mind Rape, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Other, Scents & Smells, Spirit Rape, Sweat, Transformation, Virginity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:49:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salarta/pseuds/salarta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sephiroth punishes Aerith for always ruining his plans... by reviving her. In his image.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic with the idea of being less serious about quality with a crazy idea, but I still treated it more seriously than planned. The basic premise, of Aeris becoming more like Sephiroth, is NOT something I came up with. I saw it somewhere else a few years ago, I remembered it later, and I decided to make a quickie based on that premise. Confirmation that Aeris and Sephiroth were first planned as lovers, then brother and sister, certainly lent inspiration. I also used morphthing to get a general idea of how Sepherith's face might look, to help me along: http://i.imgur.com/tWj7B.jpg

The sting of Masamune through her gut was an all too familiar sensation. Even as a spirit, it throbbed with pain, helping her forget the ache in her muscles from running so far and fast from her worst nightmare.

She thought her healing rain on Midgar would purge the world of Jenova's influence, and transform a reincarnated Sephiroth into positive Lifestream force. She never counted on the fabled man to survive dissolution a second time by focusing his hatred on another target... her. She grunted and writhed, suspended in the air as he twisted his sword in her back.

"You have ruined my plans for the last time, Cetra," Sephiroth swore.

"Are you going to kill me?" Aerith asked. After two years, such a question in her current form no longer sounded quite so strange. She knew what a second death would mean... and so did Sephiroth.

"I'm not a fool. I know what would happen. You would dissolve into pure energy, pass through me and remove all remaining traces of my power over the Planet before returning to the Lifestream. No, I have much better plans for you. The perfect punishment for your constant interference."

A deep, foreboding darkness weaved from the blade inside her, pouring forth from her wounds to coat her skin like tainted latex. It smothered her with unending heat, reaching up to her neck before her head lolled. A hard, heavy breath forced itself from her mouth as tightness pressed into her chest. Before the darkness claimed her, she heard a final promise from Sephiroth that chilled her to her heart.

"Say goodbye to Aerith Gainsborough. When you wake up, the woman you are will no longer exist."

\------------------------

First, she heard the flutter of bird wings. Then, she felt soft flower petals against her skin, and a cool breeze stealing away the raging inferno of her body to the winds. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing the sights of her lovingly familiar church. Since her time among the living, a nearby wall had crumbled from disrepair, shattered pillars lay across the wooden floor, and chain-linked chandeliers creaked high above. When her fingers dipped into cool water, Aerith peered over... and stared at the woman in her reflection.

Long, high-arching platinum silver bangs rose from a gentle widow's peak, framing a face that looked much harder and held a hint more color than she remembered. She blinked in disbelief, drawing her gaze to the cold, calculating gleam of her slitted cat-like pupils, beset as they were by the sea of her thin emerald green eyes beneath thicker, lightly curved grey eyebrows. When she saw her vicious, scheming smile, she reached up and ran her fingers across its curling corners.

It was real. Aerith Gainsborough, last of the Cetra, beheld her new face... the face of Sephiroth. Or at least, the man's idea of her twisted to look like a female version of him, sculpted with just enough traces of her real appearance to conjure memories of the woman she used to be. The one truest hint of her soul remade in this body showed in her hairstyle, her silver braided ponytail bound by a black leather ribbon to cascade against her back. She came to her feet on legs rebuilt as stronger, firmer, more toned than her old weak and fragile self once had. 

"It's only a body. Cloud will understand. If I talk to him, we can work together and find a way to stop any plan Sephiroth might have. That is, if he's still alive after I fuck him and infect him with Geostigma."

Aerith froze, heart skipping a beat once her mind caught up with the dirty, evil deed of her last remark. "What's wrong with me? I would never wish for something so horrible. Sephiroth is my lord and master, I would never try to foil his plans."

This time, Aerith clapped her hand to her mouth, trembling as a new wave of darkness churned in the pit of her stomach and crawled inside every cell of her skin, alerting her to an invasion of Jenova's will. It was a virus... infecting her... tainting her spirit with a brand new body so very similar yet different from her own.

She could smell Sephiroth on her. She reeked of him now, like a noxious cloud of musk fuming off of her. No... not noxious. _Divine!_ A potent whiff of her ruggedly masculine scent melted her mind to the glory of being the legendary man's newest avatar to walk the Planet. She felt herself slipping, falling into the temptations of her flesh.

She touched her forbidden body. Forbidden, because as testosterone oozed off her, the distinct wrongness of finding so much excitement in her pure spirit turning into a remnant of Sephiroth in the shape of a woman pressed hard on her thoughts. His might, his raw and unbridled manhood, coursed through her, subduing her feminine Cetra half with ease. A part of her wanted to escape... the part that made her Aerith Gainsborough... but every second in this body made her spirit weaker.

"He's raping me... in the worst way I can imagine. He's already raped my body and my mind, but this... this is glorious!" She cackled mad, rubbing her palm against her forehead with a wild, vile grin. "Spirit rape... he's going to twist everything I am with his essence until I'm a part of him. It's the greatest insult yet, and I've earned it for interfering all the time like a high and mighty bitch."

Pure hatred burned in her, the same unflinching hate Sephiroth felt for the woman... she used to be. Every unkind word, and every nasty thought, concocted for Aerith Gainsborough sent shivers of pleasure through her. The very act fueled itself, just by knowing how complete her corruption had grown that she would speak so badly of herself. That's when she felt her nipples rub against silky fabric. She looked down at her new wardrobe... and what it said about her.

A black leather minijacket with short metal-banded sleeves and belts across the front to keep it in place just wouldn't have the same appeal without her new pair of giant breasts to hide, and a black string tied around her neck to draw even more attention to her cleavage. The extension of the jacket's back made for a perfectly sleazy split into flaps just above her tailbone, covering her cheeks but allowing the cleft to remain on show. She followed her urges, trailing her hands down her sides and slipping under those flaps to squeeze her plush, abundant rear and got her first feel of her new dress. The cells of Jenova that brought her new physical form sizzled from the tight, clingy sensations wrought by her buttoned dress, uselessly transparent as if solely made to mock the pink innocence of her old one. 

"My whole life as a Cetra was a lie! I was born to become Sephiroth's remnant, an extension of his spirit. I am Sephiroth's puppet... I am his lackey. No.... I AM Sephiroth! I am more than some mere agent under his influence, I exist because he made me in his image! He is my god, my creator, the one who brought me life. Aerith Gainsborough is-"

Just then, she coughed, and faltered. She doubled over as she spluttered, clutching her chest, her bangs falling over her face. Her metal bracers clicked as she brought her hands together in prayer, her silver nail polish glimmering in the light. A swell of... Aerith... took hold, and she shook her head.

"I have to fight him. I will NOT become a fragment of his spirit. I am more than a small part of a wicked man. I'm Aerith Gainsborough. I'm the last of the Cetra. My heritage and identity mean too much. If I can call upon the Planet for aid... I can..."

That smell again. It was always the smell. Every time she came close to wresting back control of her mind, she found herself getting weak in the legs when her nostrils took in the scent of sweat and sperm that was distinctly Sephiroth. Nothing could defeat it, a constant trigger for the rapture she felt for her god. She imagined him bending her over, holding her braid, fucking her raw and fierce as she screamed his name.

"Sephiroth! Sephiroth!" the little pretend voice of hers shouted in her fresh depraved fantasies. "Fuck me harder! Fill the emptiness inside me! Remind me what it feels like to be whole again."

She dreamed of her eventual demise, her grand reward for her esteemed service. Once his Masamune lopped off her head, her spirit would flow back into her master's body to rejoin him, fading seamlessly with the rest of what she left behind when she became a remnant.

She could no longer ignore the awkward feelings stirring at her loins. She reached into the gap between buttons of her dress, lowered her leather codpiece and shivered at the sight. While her pussy sweltered with want, arousal now dripping down her toned thighs, her proud, engorged dick sprang free. Though thin, it mirrored the famous Masamune in length, passing through the exit made by her hand to jut twelve inches out. She touched the quivering, pulsing shaft and grimaced... a grimace that turned into a naughty all-knowing smile as she took a firm grip upon it.

"Sephiroth has given me a penis... a woman with a penis..." Aerith's hesitation turned to naughty glee, fondling herself. "Yes, how appropriate. It would be wrong for me not to have one. After all, I am Sepherith, the new Jenova made in his image."

She stroked herself, fist pumping from the base and her nice tuft of grey hairs to the plump bulb she had for its tip. Standing at the edge of a crystal clean Lifestream-infused pond, Sepherith angled it toward the surface and grinned.

"Aerith is no more. I am a blight on this land. A messenger for my great one winged angel's coming. All who look on me will despair at his coming before succumbing to my temptations."

Her breasts jiggled within her tiny jacket, while her other hand popped one of her dress buttons, descended and swirled about her nether lips. She mewled as her scent grew ever fiercer from her twin delights.

Incensed with a fresh, untested body, the former Cetra succumbed swiftly to her novice libido. White strands of cum spurted from her spasming cock, dripping into the water before her... and tainting it. The blackness of negative Lifestream spread like a liquid plague until the surface turned murky, snatching away the arousing gift of her reflection for the much greater pleasure of seeing her corruption steal all life from the pool. Beneath her, as the rush of orgasm spilled from her pussy, her juices dribbled over her precious yellow flowers. They twisted into misshapen forms, their stems kinking as their petals became a midnight black. Soon, the will of Jenova swept through the entire flower bed, every touch of green snuffed in darkness. 

All Sepherith could do, standing amid all this spiritual carnage, was giggle as her dick shrank to fill her codpiece, and she snapped the leather garb back into place.

"Can you see me, Sephiroth? Can you feel me?" she called out. "You will return to this world in a way only my tainted Cetra spirit could conceive. I will spread Geostigma with my manhood and my quim, and every new spirit that returns to me will aid in your rebirth... from the womb of your once greatest enemy! Sepherith, the new JENOVA, your loyal servant!"

Turning from the pond, Sepherith headed for the church's high wooden doors, her black high heels clicking with every step. All the while, she rubbed her stomach, imagining the wonders of its future pregnant swell.


	2. First To Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sepherith visits her first choice of victim to convert to her cause: Elmyra Gainsborough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hello everybody! When I wrote the first chapter, I had inklings of this idea, but I never had the drive to do anything more with Sepherith until xMLx took the time to draw some awesome NSFW art based on the first chapter, which can be seen at http://www.hentai-foundry.com/pic-156124.html . I'm going to thank him again for it here, because I love it! Anyway, as is a bad habit of mine, I took this chapter more seriously than my original one, and I think that affected quality. Is it better? Worse? How so? Any feedback is appreciated!

Sepherith floated on the wind. Her silver hair, imbued with the almighty design of her master creator Sephiroth, billowed around her jacket's collar, light and wispy as feathers. With her newfound magical strength, she landed at the doorstep of her one first chosen victim, the perfect target to symbolize her allegiance to the great man who gave her rebirth true meaning.

She stood before the house of her old self's adoptive mother, Elmyra Gainsborough.

She grinned as she peered back at the destruction she wrought. Already, the lush fantastical garden of rosy flowers and green leaves once tended by the last of the Cetra wilted into a tangled black mess from her taint, decaying by the very presence of her foul, corrupted soul among them. A rush of motion from the front door greeted Sepherith's cheek. She kept her gaze untoward to savor the very sound of the maid of the house's reaction to her good work.

"Can I he- oh my goodness! What happened out here!" Elmyra's view snuck between the doorframe and the stranger's shoulders, at the ravaged wonder of a downtrodden Mako-sucking city.

Sepherith's voice curled like a cat's tail as she spoke, turning to Elmyra with her dull pink lips equally risen to a smirk. "Hello, Miss Gainsborough. It's so good to see you again. Perhaps... you have time to sate the desires of the messenger for this world's one true god?"

She crept into the abode with all the flair of a snake, sliding her arm across the oak brown door before her quarry could seal her out. Not that it would have done much more than delay her; within Sepherith's blood coursed the raw might of Jenova. Wood splintered at the merest application of her strength, even with the supple soft state of her languid arms.

Her weakness would fade in time. Starting here.

"What do you want?" Elmyra stammered, dazed by a guest turned invader in her own home. She stepped backward, to reach for the safety of some chair or table between them, only to fail as the mystery woman stole her wrist and forced her hand to rub a tit bursting with abundance underneath a black leather minijacket.

"What do I want, Miss Gainsborough?" Sepherith asked, coolly confident as she journeyed a razor sharp nail to the cleft of Elmyra's white-aproned green dress and sliced it clean to her navel. "I want you. I want to fuck the dutiful widowed housewife right out of you, and savor every second of it through eyes that once belonged to your daughter."

A panicked pause washed over Elmyra. She paled and trembled, rubbing a hand over the stranger's face as she gathered her wits to place the shade of green in her eyes... the style of her braided hair... the neat, telltale tying of the string about her neck, black as night. "Aerith?"

"Hehehe... no. Aerith was a failure, a little wisp of a woman too weak to admit her true calling as a remnant of the great Sephiroth. My name is Sepherith, and you, Miss Gainsborough, will be the first of many to taste and feel the glories bestowed upon me by my creator."

Against the faint protests of her prey, Sepherith pressed her lips to the middle-aged Elmyra, tongue dancing against tongue as the blackness of Geostigma poured as mist out the corners of her mouth. She dug lower, groping the wild womanhood between Elmyra's thighs as wetness ran across her palm.

"Mmm... you're already enjoying this. I should have known you would fall easily, just like your daughter."

"Please... stop.... you don't have to..."

Elmyra gasped. Her dress, tattered and torn, lost the last of its hold when Sepherith ripped at the seams. It hung loosely now, draping her backside and spilling off the rounded edge of the dining room table as Sepherith forced her to lie flat-back across its top.

"Be still, Miss Gainsborough," Sepherith commanded, parting their torrid kiss to slink back and fondle her codpiece with flirty promise. "I assure you, my manhood will bring you to such heights of pleasure that you will soon beg for my touch."

The titan between her legs rose from its leather confines, popping its cover open to present itself with exquisite beauty. Every wrinkle and vein swelled with blood, Jenova's blood, an offer that throbbed against the sheer white cotton wall between her thick bulb and the prize of Elmyra's sopping cleft. Sepherith sniffed her prey's heat and viciously grinned at the surprise reveal crisping her nostrils.

"I can smell your want. You want me inside you. You _need_ me inside you. And how could you not, when a woman of your age has the honor of being broken in for her first time by a remnant of the great Sephiroth?"

A mournful, moaning wail, of shame and of defeat, escaped Elmyra's lips. The fierce musky scent of Sepherith burned in her nose, in her chest, breaking past the fragrant potted flower vase toppled beside her head. Her arms met the invader and weakly, wantingly caressed Sepherith's arms. She peered into her rapist's face, explored those crooked eyebrows and the gazing slit of emerald green cat eyes drinking in her features, and despaired.

Her heart thumped. The pit in her stomach swirled. Black taint flowed from her mouth, hot breaths blowing across the pasty cheeks of a cunning master of corruption that delighted in every second of her fall. She shivered with anticipation at the barrage idling at the gates, teasing her with revelries to come. Pure evil stared her in the face, and she pursed her lips for it as Sepherith drew in closer with the grin of a sly wolf ready to pounce on its catch.

"Miss Gainsborough."

The beast speaking her name flitted each syllable in her ears like birdsong, joyously gracing her with a measured, lusty coo.

"Do you want me inside you?"

Her defenses fell, shattering much as one of her cherished flower vases against the kitchen floor. In her mind, she saw a brown-haired little girl, gently smiling back at her with all the boundless love in her Cetra heart. Bygone days of bliss and sunlight, of a sweet child playing among her flowers in an innocent white dress, tortured her with the woman Aerith used to be ... and the monster she had become.

She gazed upon the wicked echo of her daughter on this monster's face, the careful creases and curves at once familiar and bizarre, a mirage of feelings that assaulted her every sense.

Sepherith could take her. In her own home, surrounded by flowers sown by Aerith herself, Sepherith could have her way with her and leave her a broken mess splayed across the kitchen table. Permission to freely enter her with the corrupted flesh of her dear, beloved daughter was a sick game meant to tease and mock her raging desires, the last cruel test of her will against this beast... and she gave it.

"Yeeeesss. Do me, Sepherith. I offer myself to you... as a tribute," she swooned, growing weaker every second she lay exposed yet unsated.

Sepherith grinned, dark yet glinting in the light, at the bounty spread beneath her. "How touching. What would Aerith think if she saw you today? Do you think she would be happy to see her own mother spreading her legs to get fucked by her precious little girl reborn as her killer? Would it get her panties wet to know you love my cock and all it has to offer more than you ever loved her?"

"Please... please..." Elmyra mewled like a milk-starved cat. Between moist thighs and the rise and fall of her pale hips, her soft untrimmed sex pleaded for release.

"Is that all you can muster? Frail, pathetic begging for table scraps like a dog?" Sepherith sighed. The catch... all too easy. She would need to find stronger prey on her next hunt, some man or woman able to resist her temptations long enough to make fitting sport of their defeat. For now, she would savor her prize. "Very well. Enjoy the dick of your daughter, reborn in the image of her killer."

In one clean, swift stroke, Sepherith's manhood tore Elmyra's cotton panties asunder. It was the stuff of legends. Its length, the prodigious member of the great herald of Sephiroth, pierced the very seat of her virtue like the blade tip of Masamune, streaming down her virgin channel to reach those hidden sacred depths once forbidden to the lady's own hands.

"OHHH!"

Amid the quakes and gasps, Elmyra raked her fingernails down the back of her master's thick black jacket. Her legs slackened when Sepherith drew back, only to quiver and pincer about her partner's waist with each fresh thrust. All the while, as Sepherith pumped into her loins, one sense eclipsed even the expert ministrations pressed inside her.

Beneath the leather was a lover, strong and vile, rippling with raw might.

Rugged yet soft, handsome yet beautiful, Sepherith's manly spunk perfumed every fiber of her being. Elmyra dreamily groaned, basking in the smell's tickle cascading into her soul and swelling a warmth to her womb unlike the majestic bulb of her master's member. Glassy eyes remitted a powerful surge pulsing downward, into her red-swelling mound of Venus. She could feel herself cresting to the high of her sexual need, back rising to meet a building climax....

"Not yet," Sepherith commanded. "I am not ready to cum just yet, slave. I want to savor my conquest longer, and you have yet to think about your daughter."

Sepherith's palm descended upon Elmyra's chest. At first pressure, then magic, filled her palm, pulsing her darkness into the defeated woman. Soon, Elmyra's risen hips slipped low, a frozen orgasm burning in her sex. The torment written on the dutiful housewife's face was exquisite, a succession of misty black puffs from her lips, fluttering eyes and clammy flushed skin that drove Sepherith to new horizons of lust. 

\---------------

Sepherith's seed dribbled from the loosened sex of her conquest. Red and white, the pool swallowed the table between Elmyra's legs until it spilled over the edge about her knees. As the tainted remnant concealed her package, she sat in her chair and smiled at her freshly minted servant.

Elmyra Gainsborough. A charming, loving mother... broken. Her mop of woody brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, freed from its neat bun in the throes of their tryst. Dazzled blinking revealed the heights of climax from which she fell, the ripped rags of her dress drenched in her own sweat. Every inch of her... tainted. Twisted. _Used_.

"Elmyra," Sepherith asked, "How does it feel to be the first Consort of Sepherith?"

"It feels... it feels..." She gazed at her belly, her firm slender belly, and stroked its bare expanse... softly smiling. "It's wonderful. I can feel the Seed of Jenova growing inside me. In a few months, everyone will know I betrayed my daughter."

"Much sooner than that," Sepherith assured, rubbing the front of her codpiece. "I have a mission for you. One that will require you to change out of those tattered rags. Tell me, have you ever heard of the Honey Bee Inn?"


	3. Blighted Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tifa pays her respects at the memorial plaque in Aerith's garden, despite its sorry state. What she encounters exceeds her deepest nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: bizarre smell elements involved. I say this only because I know that's a kink some people don't like.

There was a time not that long ago when sunlight bathed a pair of islands full of blossoming loosestrifes. The islands towered above a lake made of the clearest, most pristine sparkling blue water in all of Midgar. Few could scarcely fathom such a sight. In this desolate urban wasteland, where wilderness shrank as flashing TV sets and bustling pickup trucks flourished, how could anything so clean exist?

Yet, exist it did. Day after day, a woman so beautiful she looked almost like an angel wandered those small patches of natural wonder. She could be seen for miles, a tiny bright red and pink dot surrounded by green and yellow flowers. That young Cetra, Aerith Gainsborough, would tend to her garden, nurture and wet them from petals to roots, then gently pluck those flowers at their prime. Then, with a basket full of their transitory grace, she would return to her quaint little house nearby and clean herself up before heading out to sell her slice of Gaia for a measly gil. She was a ray of hope and love in a sad, dark city founded on ego and greed.

That time had passed.

What remained of the old garden looked like a florist's nightmare. Withered, blackened weeds climbed wood fences and drooped over cliff edges with crooked stems. They blighted the soil, slowly creeping into every nook and crevice the land had to offer - including Aerith's memorial.

"Ugh, this is disgusting. How can anyone live out here?" Tifa griped and winced, voice muffled as she firmly pressed her palm against her nose and mouth.

She tried not to breathe. Any time she did, she feared the awful stench curling into her nostrils would drive her over the flimsy wood plank bridge, down the steps and sprinting right past Elmyra Gainsborough's kitchen window. She could almost see the widow mother's pained, heartbroken face with its wrinkles and creases at seeing her daughter's old friend refuse to pay her respects.

She could feel foul winds rippling through her tight white tanktop. They seeped into her pores, molesting her with gusts cold and fierce enough to chill her nipples hard. Not that they had much resistance, licking over sheer cotton soaked with sweat. She looked like the winner of a wet T-shirt contest, with the fabric hugging her curves, digging into her cleavage and revealing the very robust outline of her perky gil-wide twin Nibels... as one very amorous former lover called them. 

She cursed herself in that moment, both for remembering those naive years and for putting on these clothes in a bid to tease Cloud with some skin later that day.

"Be strong Tifa, be strong. Remember your training. If you can withstand a Malboro's Bad Breath, you can handle this."

"Are you okay out there, dear?" Elmyra called through an open window.

"Y-yes Mrs. Gainsborough. The memorial's..." Tifa swallowed. "It's very nice."

"Mmm... I appreciate every second you spend out there. I think my daughter's spirit does too."

Tifa tried to tune Elmyra out. She needed to, to dull her sense of smell. The sight of noxious fumes wafting off nasty husks all around Aerith's granite plaque alone required concentration to weather. In a dazzlingly grotesque turn, the overgrowth managed to frame Aerith's engraved likeness on the plaque perfectly, almost as if they were designed for that effect. The desiccated remains of Aerith's life's work tangled around her radiant smile, her glowing eyes, the soft curves of her heart-shaped face. They dripped and dribbled black muck, yet somehow, they managed to leave her name and poem untouched... and Tifa could not help her urge to read them.

 

Aerith Gainsborough  
Beloved daughter, last of the Cetra  
1985 - 0007

Though your body rests, your spirit lingers  
In the garden you planted with soiled fingers  
Through sun and stormy rains you kneeled,  
Smeared with dust from these wild fields  
After long hours, your passion would drip  
Where those slick petals touched your lip  
As their potent scent spread on the wind  
You took deep, fevered breaths and grinned  
Today these hardy flowers stand  
Where you found your Promised Land

 

Those words were meant to be a tribute. They should have represented Aerith's kind, nurturing soul, and her commitment to the smallest bits of life. Like everything else about the garden, exposure corrupted that message read by read into something gross and depraved. 

Aerith's striking, heartfelt gaze corroded into one of shallow longing. Her grin, once vibrant and bright, suddenly carried an air of perversion better suited to men coming out of the Honeybee Inn. She looked unclean, like the sort of woman who saw a thin film of sweat and grime over her skin as her reward for tending to fields of slimy, stinking weeds. The image looked so vivid and complete, she could almost see-

Tifa froze and backed away in shock. She _could_ see her!

"Mmm.... mmmnnnnn....."

The ghost of Aerith moaned. Ratty, oily hair swept against her red mini-jacket. Kneeling at the altar to her memory, she rocked her hips side to side. The audible squish of her fingers in her snatch, a sound Tifa could never imagine in such crude detail, accompanied one of Ghost Aerith's dainty hands popping open a couple buttons on her tattered pink dress.

"This... this... this can't be real!" Tifa screamed.

Horror quivered in her big red eyes. She hated how she couldn't look away, how her unblinking gaze drank in all that mud smeared over Ghost Aerith's forearms. From behind, she failed - _failed_ \- to resist the urge to stand on her tiptoes for a better view down Ghost Aerith's dress. It made her feel... dirty. Like one of those creeps who always tried to grope her tits or smack her ass in the bar. A wet thrill winced between Tifa's legs when she saw pink splotches rise on Ghost Aerith's tits. 

Ghost Aerith stopped humping her fingers just long enough to breathe. Plucking a weed from the earth, she raised it to her nose. A delighted smile crept into her cheeks as she savored its toxic aroma, snorting black smog through her nostrils like some hard wonder drug.

"Tehehehe... you make my cunny happy," Ghost Aerith giggled. Glassy-eyed, she puckered up and gave the weed's petals one sloppy kiss. Its dark gunk smeared across her lips, dribbling down her chin, down her neck, disappearing into the valley of her cleft. She took that spent corrupted flower and placed it over her ear, humming as she lowered her hands and gripped her inner thighs.

"Aerith!" Tifa cried. "You have to stop-"

"Oh..." Ghost Aerith's head slumped.

"You have to stop-"

"Ohhhh...." Her hips bucked.

"You have to-"

"Ooooooohhhhh Gaia!" Ghost Aerith screamed. She reclined, arched her back, held herself up with her thin arms. 

"Stop it!" Tifa reached out. As she feared, her hand swiffed through a whole lot of nothing. In one last act of desperation, she focused on that one last remnant of Aerith she had left: her death.

She visualized the last Cetra on that fateful day. Eyes closed in deep reverence to Gaia, hands clasped tightly under her chin, head bowed, Aerith as Tifa remembered her had the saintly glow of a martyr. It held firm and fast in Tifa's head, and at first, she thought she found the answer. She thought Aerith sitting up, folding her legs beneath her and softly humming actually meant she had some measure of control over the apparition. Tifa's last hope shattered when Ghost Aerith gave a prayer as lovely as the black smog fuming from her mouth. 

"Dear Gaia, I beg of you to spread my taint across your land. The world must know what I have done, what all my hard work has brought upon them, and loathe me for it. Make my name and memory as repulsive as the stench of my weeds. That is the dying wish of the last of the Cetra."

Pure, unadulterated shock coursed through Tifa's veins and froze. She had no will to think or imagine left... and Ghost Aerith took that chance to break free from the remaining confines of Tifa's memory.

Ghost Aerith flitted out of existence, reappeared facing Tifa. Her whole body jerked up as if pierced by the legendary Masamune all over again, then slumped. She caught herself before she could hit the ground with a familiar muffled thump. Her fingers clawed into the earth. The ragged ribbon in her hair bowed like submissive puppy ears. She shook with carnal joy, unable to contain the swell of lust building inside her ghostly form.

Arousal shimmered in her eyes when she caught Tifa glancing down her dress again. Nails encrusted with dirt traced across her chest, drawing the Seventh Heaven brawler down the rabbit hole of her cleavage, right to her dainty pink nipples. She licked her lips, teasing, wanting, and moaned.

"Sephiroth! Take me! I'm your bitch!"

"Aerith, no!" Tifa shouted. She didn't care if it was some hallucination, or some cruel beast mocking her with crude parodies. In her heart, she needed to fight back. "I don't know what this is, but it's not you."

Aerith's boobs swayed side to side. She rose up and turned toward her memorial. Pop, pop, pop her buttons went, bare boobs bouncing as her open dress draped her shoulders. Another girly giggle escaped her, pressing herself against the side of all that hard firm granite. Moaning, groaning, quaking with lust, she ground her pussy against a rounded corner and added more blackness and curl to her tribute of weeds.

"Aerith! Aerith, do-"

Tifa's words caught in her throat with a rush of wind around her ears. Her feet slipped, kicking out from under her. She floated, then felt something press against her back. Confusion set in as she slammed into the ground with a wet shlop. She grunted for breath and struggled with all her might to get up, but something held her down. Sharp claws grasped her head as a mighty hand smeared her face and chest in the mud. 

"Tifa, Tifa, Tifa. Why do you resist? We both know you always wanted to see Aerith exposed for the disgusting slut she is." A mystery voice mocked. "I guess it can't be helped. I'll need to take a little extra time teaching you how to be a cruel bitch."

Something about the voice sent sharp, jagged pangs through Tifa's chest. It sounded foreign, otherworldly, yet familiar and homely. Gentle lilts brought calm. Coarse patches kicked her muscles into high gear. It grated on her brawler's instincts for that voice to bounce up and down the threat scale. She needed to assess it, but as mud bubbled around her mouth, she lost that fight and passed out.


	4. Lucid Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tifa finds herself in a bizarre place, where bizarre things happen surrounding the nature of Sephiroth and Aerith's new arrangement... and plans they have for the brawler.

Tifa stood in a field of flowers. From left to right, forward and behind, as far as the eye could see, vibrant yellow loosestrifes covered the land. A holy light shimmered from the sky, so bright Tifa could barely stand the sight before blocking it out with her hands.

Whatever it was, whatever floated down from on high, its afterimage burned. She could see tough, muscular arms, a real warrior's build, paired with a single dark wing. Then, she heard cloth ripping. It came with a sharp gust of wind, and a familiar voice uttering words she never thought she would hear. Words that struck a pang of fear deep inside Tifa's rough and tumble heart.

"Do me, Sephiroth! Do me like one of your fangirls!"

Tifa followed the cries as they became more desperate and depraved. Moans corroded into howls of lust. Time and distance stretched on. Walking felt like an eternity - and perhaps it was. Her destination remained on the horizon, but she couldn't stop. Her legs wouldn't let her. As much as she loathed what awaited her, she had to see it. She had to see every part of it laid out before her like a macabre work of art.

Along her path, flowers crushed under the heels of her tough leather boots. At first, the thought of so carelessly trampling these loosestrifes wounded her. That feeling didn't last. With each sickening crunch, their foul odor rose on wisps of smoke. She covered her nose, looking for gaps among the morass. It was no use. They spread like weeds across the land. Their stench fumed around her fingers, squirmed deep inside her nostrils. Nothing she did with her feet could stop those glassy petals from cracking.

Sadness gave way to disgust. The flowers mocked her. They looked warm, inviting. She wanted these flowers to be the same visions of natural beauty she remembered from Aerith's garden. She wanted to pluck one and wear it in her hair, like she did so many years ago. Instead, the trail of busted petals seeping out smog in her wake left a very potent reminder: within every pretty flower hid a nasty surprise, waiting for its chance to break free.

She stomped onward. Black clouds spread across in the sky. By the time she reached the spot, she was ready. She knew. Numb and jaded, she stood there and watched as the purest of maidens writhed with desire under a man who wanted to destroy every part of her.

"Mmm... that's it. Right there. Just a little..." Aerith gasped. She started blinking, arching her back to his deepest thrust yet. "Yes! Yeeesss! I'm your whore, Sephiroth! Your _filthy_ fucking whore!"

After all of Aerith's constant mewling, Sephiroth paused, looked down at the broken woman squirming beneath him, and sneered. "Hmph. So much for the purity of the Ancients."

Aerith's dirty feet dug into the earth. Her hands ripped flowers from their stems. Her moans joined a constant heave in her flushed chest, and her longing gaze at a man pumping into her with cold steely reserve revealed how badly she wanted to be taken by him. Her pink dress lay in tatters at her sides, split open straight down the middle. Her metal bracers glowed. Lust blazed through them as fire, burning her master's wing into their shiny surface.

He owned her now. She wore his brand. Her newly christened slave cuffs coursed with his power, encrusting her hands and forearms with mud as her nails grew into sharp claws. Her bright green eyes turned shallow and feral, the light of nobler thoughts fading away to leave a lusting twinkle.

She was Aerith Gainsborough, last of the Cetra. And as the last goodness within her died, all that remained of the woman who once saved Gaia was a pathetic wretch of a woman begging for her god's cock inside her.

"Please! Don't stop. I need this."

One gentle caress of her master's hand along her thighs, and her whole body quaked. This was it. Cumming. She was cumming. Hips raised, back pressed into the earth, she fell from grace with all the calm and composure of a wild beast. Her nails scraped across Sephiroth's back, leaving flesh wounds that quickly healed. Her legs quivered. Her moans strained through her dry, ravaged throat. Tears of joy streamed down her cheeks as she gushed around the mighty Sephiroth's mighty member.

Then, she went limp. Panting, she blinked and stared up at her lord, her master, her savior. Her heart fluttered just gazing upon his greatness, glowing and shaded all at once. She reached up for his face, only for the man to swat it away with a scowl.

"Pathetic. To think a woman as weak as you once resisted me. Why should I make someone so lowly into one of my remnants?"

"Uuuhhnnn... please... my pussy demands it," Aerith mewled. Her voice went husky. Sweat slicked her skin with a sheen like oil.

"That wet quim between your legs is better suited to stray dogs than the likes of me. If this is all the fight this remnant of your spirit has left in it, then I see no reason to gift it with my grace."

"Aerith!" Tifa shouted, sprinting toward the couple. No matter how fast she ran, the fields stretched on, and on, and on.

"Do not fret, Aerith. I have a much better fate in mind for this aspect of you, one I think you will love."

He disappeared, leaving the last Cetra naked, soiled and spent. Cum leaked from her sore sex. Her nipples stood firm and hard, as if waiting at attention for a lover's touch that never came. Squeezing the meager mounds on her chest, Aerith giggled like a fiend and dipped her fingers downward, into the spunk pooling between her legs. 

Finally, as if a wall came tumbling down, the illusion that kept Tifa at bay faded. She stumbled forward, lungs burning, calves aching, and dropped to her knees.

"Aerith!" 

She panicked. Yanking off her top, she rubbed it across Aerith's used body like a rag, mopping up every bit of sludge and sleaze she could find. It never left. It never went away. It only made her top wetter, thinner, until every fiber dripped with Aerith's sweat and stained light brown with her filth. All the while, Tifa's breasts prickled to a stiff cold wind. It hit fast and hard, as if it knew where and how to prey upon her nerves. She froze. She moaned. She closed her eyes. When they opened, she saw Aerith staring right at her with a dirty grin and dirtier glare.

"Wear it."

"What?"

Tifa blinked. In a flash of a second, she felt the garment clinging to her tits again, sopping wet and reeking of Aerith.

"... Eww." Tifa grimaced.

She looked like a dive bar hooker, showing off the goods through a soiled see-through tanktop smeared with mud and spunk. An obscene squelch erupted from her cleavage as she took great big handfuls of her own boobs. Slimy, grimy, disgusting, the stained cotton trapped her famed twin peaks of Nibelheim in a cloth seal that clung to her delicious curves. She tried to rip it off, and failed. It refused. It held on as if cursed with a life of its own, one dedicated to making her suffer the shame of wearing the sleaziest, scummiest top money could buy.

That's when it dawned on her. "This is a dream, isn't it?"

"Yes. Did you like it?" Aerith asked. "My master finds this fantasy of him repulsive, but what more can you expect from a filthy whore like me?"

As she said this, Aerith's body started to change again. Lustrous hair turned oily and ratty, limp as old straw. Soot spread across her skin, not one spot left clean and unspoiled. The moment Aerith opened her mouth for a crooked grin, black smog fumed out between gleaming white teeth.

"Ugh." Tifa recoiled. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I can, and because I love to see you squirm." With a mischievous smirk, Aerith faded out and reappeared on her feet, standing in front of Tifa. Arms crossed, she loomed over the brawler. "You don't know whether you love or hate seeing me this way."

"That's not true! I would never want this for you."

She disappeared again, this time returning right over Tifa's shoulder. "Yeah, right. We both know you want me to be remembered as dumb, nasty slut, you just don't want to feel bad about it. You don't want to get your hands... dirty. That might be good enough for a vile bitch like me, but that kind of behavior is beneath you, isn't it?"

"Stop! Stop it!"

"But I'm having so much fun. Aren't you?"

Aerith grinned, sauntering around a tired, worn down Tifa. She savored the little touches of Tifa's hands buried in her long dark locks, head hung low, wrapped around her finger like a puppet on strings. Such delicious torment, she needed its taste, and she bent down to snap Tifa from her daze with a good rough pinch to one of the famous perky pair she heard so much about in Midgar's slums.

"Ow!" Tifa yelped.

"Wake up, I'm your dreams come true. For once in your life, you don't have to do the heavy lifting. I'm here, my disgusting garden's ready outside my old house, I've given you all the tools you need."

A stream of obscenities spilled out of Tifa's mouth as Aerith tugged on her tit. Fuck. Shit. Damn. They all felt foreign and gross, as pinprick pain forced her to her feet. When the Cetra clamped down harder, she finally snapped, "Fuck you! Let go of me you filthy fucking-"

She caught herself. She was just about to say it. Biting her tongue, she glared back at the corrupted bitch of an Ancient as Aerith heaved a frustrated sigh.

"My, you're stubborn. You had one job, to admit how badly you want to drag my name through the mud, and you failed. How can I expect you to tell the world how much of a nasty slut I was during our travels if you won't even call me one to my face?"

Turning, Aerith walked toward darkness falling on the horizon. It came closer, ever closer, swallowing the field mile by mile, foot by foot, inch by inch, slowing in its creep toward them. Flies swarmed around her head and shoulders. Her tattered dress rustled in the wind. Glancing back at her prey, Aerith blew a puff of foul smoke from her lips and smiled.

"This isn't over. By the time we're through, you'll see me for what I really am."

As Aerith walked off, everything fell into the void.


	5. Fuckbeast Tamed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite her best efforts to resist Sepherith, Tifa finally succumbs and becomes the pawn Sepherith wants her to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very likely the last chapter I will write of "Sepherith". It makes for the conclusion of my original plans for Tifa. It's always possible I'll do more in the future, but nothing's planned. Thanks to everyone who took the time to read it and leave kudos!

Tifa's head lolled. The pillow felt so nice, cradling her neck almost as lovingly as the springy mattress beneath her. Next came smell, fresh breaths drawing in a most divine scent. It crept up her nose, made her skin sizzle with delight. She could hardly think. She could hardly feel. A dull horny ache in her chest and loins consumed her, trading off dreams full of nice hard cocks and Aerith's filthy flower habit for the perk of a perky pair. 

Moaning into her tasty gag, Tifa lightly tugged on each black ribbon binding her wrists to the bed frame. She whimpered. Denied. The wood posts noisily creaked, but they wouldn't break, foiling her cunt's cries for release. Hazed with lust, she rubbed her thick thighs and lay there in brainless bliss until she heard... her.

"Hi."

Tifa's eyes shot open, glaring at the cruel bitch. The woman's name pounded in her head, ceaselessly jabbing and jabbing and jabbing until Tifa had no choice but to growl it out. "Sepherith."

"At last, I get to hear one of you fucks call me by my real name."

The sight of Sepherith drained all desire from Tifa's worn out body. Sharp, wicked eyes. Glorious shining silver bangs, flowing as far down as the braid at her back. Frosted eyebrows. A dirty, vile smirk. That was Sepherith, standing at her bedside with one hand squeezing a tit within her translucent dress and the other fondling her cod piece.

Except, it wasn't _her_ bedside. It was Aerith's. Light beamed in from one big triangle window. At a different angle, the sun might have spared her the room's horrors - its filth-stained rugs, its paint-chipped walls, the three vases of black and withered flowers wafting off their putrid stench. Instead, light lingered on those aspects and drew them out, as if taunting her with the mess she now found herself lying in.

"Don't you love what I've done with the place?" Sepherith goaded. "Dirty, broken, used, a fitting hovel for the whore that used to live here. Before long, no one will remember Aerith Gainsborough as anything other than this disgusting little fetish freak who loved wallowing in her own filth."

Thrashing, screaming, the salty spunk-soaked rag in Tifa's mouth muffled rage bursting from her throat. She hated how much she loved its warm, gooey taste. She hated how it tingled on her tongue, oozed on her lips, Sepherith's dark jizz tainting every inch of her mouth. Flexing her arms and kicking her legs, she thought she heard a strand snap on one of the ribbons tying her down and poured more strength into her sore muscles.

"You'll have to forgive me, Tifa. I've taken the liberty of fucking your mouth while you were asleep. You always said the best part of waking up is the taste of last night's dick in your mouth."

She froze the moment Sepherith popped open her cod piece. There it was. Her one and only joy. Her pussy yearned for it, begged for it, mewled with a forced full-body shiver. Her heart and ironclad fighter's will melted the very second she inhaled its hot, hot musk. That thick delicious bulb. That pallid tone turning to a rosy red flush. That throbbing vein from base to tip. Slight curve. Glistening precum. Held by slender fingers in a vice grip.

"Is this what you want?" Sepherith mocked.

"Mmph, mmmmnoooo..."

Yes. She wanted it. She wanted it bad. She whimpered as Sepherith jerked it hard. She winced when its release smacked her on the nose like a misbehaving pup. Every pass of the thin veiny prick waving in her face brought fresh new orgasmic pangs straight up her spine, exploding in her big lusty tits.

"How does it feel to be on the receiving end of a cocktease, whore?"

Tifa sucked in a juicy spunk-scented breath as Sepherith's festering aroma and sharp words squirmed an epiphany to her feeble brain.

She understood. Tifa Lockhart, proud sole owner of Seventh Heaven, finally understood. She was in Hell. This was her punishment for all those years she answered men slapping her boobs and grabbing her ass with swift kicks to the junk. This was her punishment for swaying her hips in her short skirt, bouncing her bust in her tight top, and expecting drunkards not to crudely leer at her sleazeball body. She had no right to grouse and gripe about barflies buzzing in from the streets when she flexed and sweated in almost nothing before them.

Her protests fell silent. For the first time in her life, she knew what it meant to be one of those perverts she cruelly denied. The dick she so desperately craved dangled arms' length yet out of reach. Her head swam with fantasies of kneeling before its majesty, fondling its length, letting it jab inside her hot waiting mouth. Fleeting images of what could be, what should be, haunted her limp limbs with phantom sensations of carrying out the acts. Despite staring right at it, she could feel her hands caressing Sepherith's cockmeat Masamune with a loving touch.

Then she remembered her current state and heaved a longing sigh.

Sepherith grinned. "Well what do you know. They say music soothes the savage beast, but it looks like cock is far more potent for the likes of you."

Tifa found herself eagerly nodding. Had she always been this way? Had she always succumbed so quickly to the promise of a good dick? She didn't know or care anymore. All that remained was Sepherith's turgid member, fattening up right before her bulging eyes. Drool joined the spooge in her gag, as her cheeks and funbags - did she always call them funbags? - turned a brilliant shade of horny crimson.

"It's such a shame. I _was_ going to spend more time on foreplay, but you're such a desperate little whore, I'm going to..." Sepherith paused, baiting that look. The glint of need reflected in Tifa's gaze brought exactly the surge of strength she needed. Letting her member shrink, Sepherith stuffed it back into her cod piece with the naughtiest smirk to ever grace a fallen maiden's face. "... have to refuse."

"Humh?!"

"You see, Miss Lockhart, I am a remnant of the one true god, while you are less than a beast. At least beasts can appreciate a fine symphony more than their need to fuck anything that moves. I'm afraid you're no longer worthy of my member or my seed."

The fierce wail bursting from Tifa's lungs was truly something to behold. Mad with rage and lust, she finally snapped her bonds and lunged for Sepherith. She met air, then door, then cloth and soft flesh as wood floorboards splintered against her knees. Pulling off her gag, she tossed her dark raven locks back and froze when she saw the woman lying beneath her.

"... Aerith?"

She couldn't believe it. No black ribbons tied to silver strands. No filthy hands or tattered dress. The brunette positively glowed affection, with a gentle smile so very much like the one she wore the day she died. Tracing lovely creases on Aerith's cheeks, Tifa marveled at the miracle lying before her.

"Is it really you?" Tifa asked.

"What do you think?"

After long seconds gazing into chestnut brown eyes, Tifa gave in to her urges and tore Aerith's dress open. The rack she found on Aerith's chest looked much... bigger, than she expected. Far from the modest pair she remembered, they came to rest with thick dark peaks. Light wrinkles led into cleavage, while down further, a little tattoo of a sweet honey bee fluttered its wings just above the flower of Aerith's loins.

"I've seen that symbol before."

"I'm sure you have," 'Aerith' said. "It must have been a lot of fun, slutting yourself out with my daughter when business was good. Nowadays, I'm lucky if I can make anything on these bums who think one gil a pop is too much to ask."

"With your... dau..." Tifa gasped. "Elmyra?!"

A hand touched her shoulder. She jumped. Scrambling to her feet backward, she stared at the trio. Elmyra, Sepherith, and Aerith's ghost. Elmyra stroked her belly. Sepherith stroked her cod piece. And the ghost, in all its nasty fetid allure, rubbed her dirty pussy for all she could. All three moved toward her as Tifa held her pounding muddled head and desperately backed into a corner.

"What the hell is this?"

"Surely it can't be that hard to figure out," Sepherith said. "Who better to honor Aerith's love of fucking strange men for pocket change than her own mother? While Elmyra's busy ruining her daughter's chaste reputation, the ghost will see to it everyone thinks of Aerith and her Cetra kind as a foul blight on the land."

"What about you, huh? What's your purpose?"

Plucking a withered flower from Elmyra's basket, Sepherith took slow torturous steps toward her prey. "What other purpose could I have? As a remnant, it's my duty to gain disciples, spread his seed and give birth to the one true god. You may not be worthy of _my_ cock, Tifa Lockhart, but I've prepared you for a duty better suited to your talents."

As the scent of those decayed loosestrifes clouded her mind, Tifa lost the last remains of her old self to a haze of lust.

\------

"Wooooooo! Tits up!"

Soaked with sweat, Tifa's brand new tiny top finally revealed the wonders of her tits' sexy shape. So tight. So clear. So crisp. Cloth ensconsced each perky breast, the massive perky pair all but ready to burst out as they tested the limits of their flimsy white cocoons. The garment's newfound translucence allowed her horny fluster of splotchy pink and their forced tips to bear themselves out into plain view.

She reeked of sex. It wafted off her like the aura of a prideful slum slut. It suited her state: heart racing, cunt aching, belly burning with lust. Her constant nympho high left her skin steaming on cold nights like this one. The thick heady musk fuming from her hairy pits only made it worse, deep breaths urging her to place her hands behind her head and splay her elbows out for more. She was wild. Feral. And right now, she earned her beastly scent by riding her latest cock.

"What do ya think? Bet I'm better than that one gil skank at the Honeybee Inn," she said, with a perverse grin and a sparkle in her eyes.

"Damn right you are."

The swish, swish, whip whip of her damp and messy hair unveiled her new title sewn into her top's back: Titfuck Tifa. Titfuck Tifa, the woman who jacked men off to drink their jizz. Titfuck Tifa, the woman who wandered alleys looking for stray mutts to fill her holes. Titfuck Tifa, the insatiable fuckbeast of Seventh Heaven. With thirst parching the infamous ex-brawler's throat, she snatched up a mug of her house brew topped with the cum of every man and woman who didn't have 10 gil to spend on drinks.

"Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!"

She didn't need the chant, but she loved it. It made her skin prickle, almost as much as the fragrant spunk-laced beer she tossed her head back and guzzled down all at once. For other, more refined harlots, its acrid smell and frigid splash would have slowed the bump and grind thrill.

Not Tifa. Rough thrusts of her hips drove the guy's shaft deeper, worked her muscles harder, firming up parts of her body newly awakened by the throes of sex. It came at a cost: her fighter physique. With each training day lost to endless fuckfests, her once big biceps and thick calves slimmed down. She was weak. Light. Dainty, compared to her old self. She learned this well the day she pounded her fists against a man's chest during sex and earned an amused chuckle for her efforts.

At least she looked hot. At least her overall tone remained appealing, the rough and tumble definition of her warrior days traded for the kind of soft ample curves that really drew men in for a drink... and often more. 

All the while, she chugged. Light booze flowed down her chin, adding a beautiful oily shine to her soaked bust. A little shake of the girls at the last drops brought raucous cheers, and as she slammed her empty mug down on the nearest table, she wiped her mouth and raised her arm in triumph.

"Woooo! That's right boys! Titfuck Tifa's going all. The. Way!"

This was it. The final stretch. She rubbed her hands along the guy's sides, tits flouncing as she picked up the pace. His moans brought such delight, such carnal satisfaction. Short, ragged breaths puffed from her smutty lips. Thighs quivering, arched back aching, she sunk herself on his prick. She wanted to feel hot, gooey spunk explode inside her. She wanted it so badly, to prove she could give as well as she got. No such luck. While her client thrust away for his own relief, Tifa Lockhart succumbed to the failings of a well-fucked body.

Her arms dropped as she slumped forward. Forcing herself through pity pumps of the man's rigid cock, she rode her orgasm with both palms pressed against his pecs. When the guy finally came with a grunt and firm grip on Tifa's waist, she let out a sex wail for show and hoped he wouldn't notice the fact that he - like most men before him - had conquered the Seventh Heaven fuckbeast.

As her body calmed and sweat cooled against her skin, Tifa heard a shout. "Hey, Titfuck! I'm dry over here."

"Just a minute!"

She rose off the man's dick with a soft squelch. Jizz dripping down her thighs, she savored each smack on the ass she got on her way to the bar - and with a crowd this rowdy, that numbered in the double digits. Her boobs smacked the counter and spread as she leaned in, teasing the new guy with a full-on view down her beer-drenched cleavage.

"Whatcha want?" Tifa asked, thumbing at the sign against the wall. "Beat Rush? Dolphin Blow? I can give you a Final Heaven like that guy over there, but I'm gonna need half an hour to recover."

"Nah, give me the house drink."

"Comin' right up!" She popped the cap, poured, and pouted when he snatched it up and drank it all in one long swig. She so hated when they missed the chance to watch little Tifa on the side of the mug lose her top to a frosty brew. Her disappointment was short-lived, though, when the man huffed and grabbed his almost certainly tight and bulging crotch.

"Gave you a stiff one, didn't it?" Tifa said with a brimming grin.

"Damn right. What's this stuff called?"

Pointing at the bottle, she turned it to reveal label art of a familiar brunette with thick black smog spewing from her open mouth. "Aerith's Breath. You wouldn't believe how it's made."


End file.
